Say Goodnight to the Silver of Old
by swim-with-sharks
Summary: Of all the ways Hermione had expected to spend her twenty-fourth birthday, being held at wandpoint by a group of friends, several of whom were dead, was not one of them.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I know, I know. The last thing the repetitive pool of Sirius/Hermione fanfiction needs is _yet another_ time-travel story. But to my knowledge, this particular type of S/Hr time-travel hasn't been done before, and the idea of these two cooped up together in Grimmauld Place makes me cackle with glee. What happens when we have a reckless, depressed ex-con and an overachieving woman trying to find her way home? I guess we'll find out.

This will be a fairly short story, only five, possibly six chapters long. This one is comparatively short, but they'll get longer as the story progresses. Updates will come weekly or bimonthly, because well, life happens and jobs need to get done. Regardless, it should be all complete and shiny by end of the year. Are you along for the ride?

 **Disclaimer:** Nope.

* * *

"History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake." James Joyce, _Ulysses_

* * *

Of all the ways Hermione had expected to spend her twenty-fourth birthday, being held at wandpoint by a group of friends, several of whom were _dead_ , was not one of them.

There she was, however, standing in the middle of the basement kitchen in Grimmauld Place and wondering why on earth her she couldn't seem to spend twenty seconds in the Department of Mysteries without losing friends, being chased by Death Eaters or, apparently, winding up in the past. Or an alternate dimension. She wasn't sure which it was just yet.

"Who are you?" Remus demanded, eyes flaring in warning. When she didn't answer, he growled. "I asked you a question."

She took a breath. It was either that or passing out.

" _Answer_ him," a female voice hissed.

Tonks. Another blast from the past.

Her eyes took them all in. Not just Remus and Tonks, she thought. Molly was there, too. Bill, Fleur. Hestia Jones. All of them kept their eyes and their wands trained on her. Watchful. Waiting.

And sure enough…

"We're waiting." Remus again. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

She opened her mouth. "I..."

"We should call Albus," Molly said, voice shaky but forceful. "He'll know what to do."

"Good thinking, Mum," Bill agreed. "You do that. Dumbledore is on his way," he added, this time to Hermione. "Wanna tell us who you are before he gets here? Because before or after, you stand no chance."

Her throat finally came unstuck. "I'm Hermione."

Tonks snorted. "Nice try. Now how about the truth?"

"I _am_. Tonks, really…"

Hestia watched her closely. "She kinda looks like her, doesn't she?"

Bill snorted. "Yeah. Too bad she looks about ten years too old for the role. Who did your glamour? It's a wonder they even passed their Transfiguration OWL."

Even a wandless witch could occasionally get fed up, particularly when she was terrified. "You know, if you want answers, you might try shutting up and letting me speak."

"Go on." Remus this time. She turned to him immediately, trying not to look at the wand he pointed directly to her heart.

"I'm Hermione Granger. I met you in my third year at Hogwarts, on the Hogwarts Express, when I was with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. At the end of that year, right before we found out that Sirius Black was innocent, you forgot to take your Wolfsbane and shifted. Peter Pettigrew escaped."

His eyes narrowed. "How did you find out that I was a werewolf?"

"I noticed that you were always ill at the full moon, and I realized that the Boggart changed into the moon when it saw you."

"Merlin," Molly breathed. "Hermione?"

"Wait." Remus no longer looked murderous, but he also didn't look quite ready to trust her yet. "One more question. What did the Boggart change into for your Defence against the Dark Arts final in your third year?"

"Professor McGonagall. She – it," she corrected, "Said that I'd failed everything."

Remus stared into her eyes, his wand unwavering. Then he let it down in an explosion of breath. "Dear God. It is you, isn't it?"

"What _happened_?" Tonks demanded. "Some sort of aging magic?"

"Er. No. I'm not quite sure myself, actually. My two best guesses at the time, though, are alternate dimension or time travel," she pressed a hand to her stomach as the room seemed to waver. "Whichever it is, it would appear that queasiness is a side effect."

"Sit." In a show of much welcome practicality, Molly took hold of her arm and led her to a chair. A glass of water flew into her hand. "And drink."

She obeyed, grateful when her stomach settled again. "What year is it?"

Bill stepped up. "1995."

"And clearly the war is already taking place? I mean, since you're all staying at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes. Not that most people would agree," Hestia said with a huff. "Fudge is adamant that nothing is wrong. But yes, for all intents and purposes, a war is on."

"I see." And she did. She nodded, once, then twice, before getting to her feet. "Then I guess this is a case of time travel after all."

"What happens, Hermione?" Remus asked quietly. "At the end. You're alive in your time, so… Do we win?"

She hesitated. "Voldemort is defeated, yes."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "But?"

Her throat closed up. Her eyes wanted to fill. It was beginning to hit her now, the fact that she was talking to dear friends who would be dead in a matter of years. "But there are a lot of losses. And… not everybody in this room makes it."

She decided then and there, as she watched her friends try to come to terms with the news, that she would've happily gone another round with Bellatrix Lestrange rather than have to tell them that.

"That's all right. I mean," Remus said with something like a laugh. "It's not like we didn't see that coming."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered.

"Don't be." Hestia lifted her chin, a fierce, elated grin creeping on her face. "We _win_. Even if some of us die, we win. The wizarding world won't be lost to that slimy excuse for a wizard after all."

Bill agreed. "I don't think you should tell us who does or doesn't make it. Not until Dumbledore is here, at any rate. I'm not all that familiar with time travel, but I'm pretty certain that something like this could alter history."

"Bill's right," Remus said definitively. "You'll tell us nothing. Albus should probably be told, but that's it."

They were right, she knew that, but… "I'm not sure I can do it."

"Tonks, did you see…" A familiar voice trailed off as the man in question took in the strange woman loosely holding a wand in her hands. He immediately pulled his own wand on her. "Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?"

Remus sighed. "Hermione, you better put that away. Padfoot, I'll explain."

* * *

"Time travel." Sirius said incredulously, _too_ incredulously in her opinion considering his own history with it. "So you're Hermione from the future?"

"Yes, I am. And yes, I still have trouble wrapping my mind around it."

"But that's impossible. Time turners can only go back a limited amount of time. Even if you _were_ Hermione from the future, you would still be sixteen. How old are you, kid?"

She nearly rolled her eyes at the endearment. "Twenty-four."

He whistled. "How the hell did that happen?"

"If I knew, don't you think I would have done something to prevent it?" She snapped, then pressed her fingers to her temples with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm upset."

"Small wonder. Here," he pushed a glass in front of her. "I think you could use it."

They were alone in the kitchen, the rest of its inhabitants having left to attend to various matters before Dumbledore's arrival. She picked up the glass and sniffed. Firewhisky. "I'm not usually a fan, but I could use it right now. Thanks."

"No problem," he looked at her for a moment. "I know everyone decided not to ask questions about the… losses."

For a moment, her mind blanked. She couldn't possibly tell him he'd be the first serious casualty among their group. Then the light dawned. "Harry makes it."

Sirius' eyes closed for a split second. "Thank you."

Hermione couldn't help it. She'd held on fairly well with the rest, while she'd been trying to convince them not to stun her. But now that the adrenaline was fading, the grief of the loss of so many of her friends and allies, added to the knowledge that she'd play a role in it simply by staying silent, overcame her. She reached out and took hold of his hand, blinking back tears that refused to withdraw.

"Hermione?" He said, his tone gentler than she'd ever heard it. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm just," her voice broke. "So happy to see you."

He linked their fingers together. "I-"

The door opened. Dumbledore stood in the doorframe, looking calm and powerful and in control. That was his skill, she thought. Even knowing what she now knew, she couldn't help but feel anchored. Like he would figure it all out somehow, and all would be right in the world again.

But of course, it wouldn't. She'd go back to her time and these people would die again.

She let go of Sirius' hand.

"Headmaster."

"Miss Granger. You seem to have been misplaced." His eyes twinkled. Did he do that on purpose? Just twinkle on command to cover up any uncertainty he might feel?

"You could say so."

He summoned a chair and sat. "Tell me."

She did.

"The Department of Mysteries. Interesting. What was the last thing you touched?"

"Nothing. My assignment was simple – to renew the wards holding the place impenetrable. I took a few steps back, stumbled into a table," she remembered. Her repulsion for the Veil had not let her get any closer than strictly necessary. "God. Did I set something off?"

"It's possible. Did you hear any clinks? Crashes?"

"Not a thing. I did feel a breeze, but as I was standing in front of the Veil, I assumed it was coming from it. It does sometimes. I got goosebumps. Next thing I knew, I was in the basement of this house, surrounded by wands."

"I understand."

That made one of them. "Do you really? What happened? Why am I here?"

"Why, I do not know. But the circumstances you describe sound familiar. I need some time before I can give you any answers. In the meantime, Miss Granger, you must not be seen. I'm sure I don't have to explain why to you."

"What are you saying I should do?"

"I suggest you stay here. The people who spend regular time in this house are already aware of your presence. It's mid-September, so your younger self, Harry and the young Weasleys are back at Hogwarts. This is the safest place for you."

"I have to go back."

"I imagine you do. But without knowing how you got here, we don't hold much hope of sending you back."

"So what do you want me to do? Go through the war all over again? Only this time, I should sit back and watch my friends die?"

His eyes flickered. "I suggest neither. But we must learn all we can about your arrival. Surely you understand."

Oh, how she wished she didn't. "I won't stay idle while you figure out my life."

"I wouldn't ask you to. You are a remarkably skilled researcher even as a 15-year-old, Miss Granger. I imagine that skill has improved in the nine years since. I hope you'll help me look for a solution."

She held his eyes. Her Legilimancy knowledge was newly acquired, and he had decades of practice deflecting probing eyes. It did not come as a surprise to find nothing in his gaze. "I'd like that."

"Wonderful. I'm sure Sirius wouldn't mind showing you to the library when you're ready."

The mocking twist of his lips told Hermione that might not be true, but Sirius didn't argue.

"Now. There is something else we must discuss. Sirius, would you mind?"

The Sirius Black that Hermione remembered would have, indeed, minded, but the man sitting across from her rose without a word. She didn't watch him go – all her attention was centered on the older man watching her steadily. "What do you want to know?"

"Only one thing: does the Order win?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then you'll tell me nothing more. I don't suppose I have to explain why."

No indeed. But… "The losses are plentiful."

"As they should be. Miss Granger," he said when she opened her mouth, stunned despite everything. "Hermione. You of all people know the risks of meddling with time. Say we save one person. How do we know dozens of others won't die in their stead? How do we know we won't lose the war the second time around?"

Hermione was too practical to miss the inarguable logic in that statement. But she didn't give a damn about logic at the moment. "Don't you even _care_?"

"Of course I do," he didn't look like everybody's favorite grandfather at the moment. The twinkling blue eyes gave way to an aura of power that was almost blinding. "But I can't afford to let sentiment get in the way of the greater good."

She very nearly slapped him. "Who are you to decide what's for the greater good?"

"Are you saying stopping Voldemort from rising to power might not be it?" He asked quietly, waited for her to argue. Knew she couldn't. "I'll contact you within the week. Let me know if you've made any advances. And, Hermione, stay here. It's too dangerous for you to leave this house."

She could think of nothing more constructive to do than sigh.

The bastard always managed to get in the last word.

* * *

Long after dinner was over, Hermione found herself tossing and turning in bed. Her room, the same one she'd once shared with Ginny, was stifling. Shoving the covers aside, she gave up. There'd be no sleeping for her tonight, and she desperately wanted caffeine.

Coffee might not be the smartest idea for an already restless woman, but it would clear the cobwebs in her brain.

She wasn't surprised to find Sirius already sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of Firewhisky. He raised his head at her approach, but said nothing.

"Hi. I'll get out of your way in a minute. I just wanted some coffee."

"At one in the morning?"

She gave a kind of shrug. "I couldn't sleep. May I?"

"Suit yourself. You're in a for a long string of sleepless nights," he gestures vaguely. "Now that you're cooped up here as well."

"Is that a problem for you?"

"No. A little weird, maybe. Last time I saw you, you were nine years younger. That was two weeks ago."

She chuckled under her breath. "That would be disconcerting."

"You could say so," he watched her over the rim of her glass. "I should probably ask what you do, right? My parents were big on etiquette, but I don't recall ever learning how to catch up with a time-traveler."

"I work at the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries."

"Hence us having this little chat."

"Hence."

"When are you starting your research?"

"Yesterday if I could. I need to go home," _away from you, from Remus and Tonks, from everyone whose death I will now carry on my conscience_. "Is tomorrow morning okay?"

"Yeah. Do you know where the library is?"

"Mmhm. I've worked there in the past."

"I see," he examined her closely. "Are you as… rule-abiding as you were at 15?"

The little pause before the description made her smile. "Tactful. And no, not quite."

"So. What are the odds of you going against Dumbledore in this?"

She looked down. There was no way she could look him in the eye. "Slim to none. Why?"

"Tell me about Harry. You already said he lives," he barreled on before she could protest. "And it occurs to me, looking at you, it occurs to me you wouldn't have given me even that much if I was going to be there to see it myself. So tell me he's fine in your time. Not just alive. Actually fine."

She wanted, desperately, to contradict his instincts about his own fate. She knew she couldn't. And to tell him Harry was happy, a promising Auror, newly engaged, basically amounted to admitting that, yes, he would die long before he got to witness it. Could her tacit acknowledgment potentially alter the course of history? Should she even risk it?

But he was Harry's _godfather_.

"He's fine," she said in a low voice, still not looking at him. "He'll be fine."

She looked up, startled, when he reached out, clasped her wrist. "Thanks."

Not knowing what to say, Hermione nodded and surged to her feet. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Well, hello. For the two or three of you out there who didn't just throw up your hands in exasperation and give up on this story, here's chapter two. Life, in all its messy, exhausting glory got in the way. I hope you can enjoy this despite the ridiculous time between chapters (it'd probably be a good idea to reread chapter one and refresh your memory), and I hope you have the time and inclination to leave a review. I adore these characters and this pairing, but somehow they manage to make me doubt myself more than any other I ever wrote before. Proof of their greatness, perhaps?

As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling could have rewritten _Deathly Hallows_ in the time it took me to churn out this chapter. I'm definitely not her, just playing in her sandbox.

* * *

"We never actively remember death,' Odenigbo said. The reason we live as we do is because we do not remember that we will die." Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, _Half of a Yellow Sun_

* * *

She was avoiding him.

Sirius didn't claim to be the most emotionally intelligent of men – quite the contrary, if he's being honest – but it didn't take a genius to figure out Hermione might not want to be in his presence after confirming his impending death. Perhaps she was afraid he'd blame her. Or maybe she just didn't want to give him the chance to ask any more questions. Whichever it was, Sirius did not intend to let her vanish into thin air every time he came near. It was his house after all, one he'd been sequestered in for almost _half a damn year_. Hermione was a distraction, and he was in dire need of distractions. Especially now.

He left Buckbeak's room and padded down the stairs in pursuit of his quarry. Deciding on a coffee break after several rooms were investigated and discarded, he headed to the kitchen. He'd barely taken his first sip when he heard a crash from the first floor. Mug in hand, he wandered back upstairs.

"You found the library, then."

Hermione – or what he assumed was Hermione, he could only see a dust-covered forehead from behind a mountain of books– made a little sound. Amusement or impatience, Sirius couldn't quite tell. "Did I? I was starting to wonder if I'd ended up in Buckbeak's room. Or a pig-sty."

"So, maybe it's a little dirty. Big deal. We decontaminated the place already, so you won't be eaten alive by any book, snuffbox, or other similarly wrathful Black relics. Where is your gratitude?"

"Unlikely to be found until I take a shower," she gave him a small smile and turned to the half empty shelves. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah, actually. You can stop pretending I'm not here."

She didn't turn, but he could sense her stiffening. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Lose your brain cells in the past – next – nine years, do you?"

The look she threw him reminded Sirius of her teenaged self. He almost smiled. "I see getting through a war didn't kill your temper."

"You don't know my temper."

"Harry mentioned it in a letter or two. I figure it's only got worse. You don't strike me as the type who mellows with age."

"Is there even a point to this?" She was going for boredom. Gods, had she always been such a miserable liar?

"See, the war did mess with your memory. I already told you the point. I want you to stop acting like I'm already dead."

The stack of books she'd been putting together almost came crashing to the ground. He was relieved to see she had the presence of mind to put them back on the shelves before they fell – a shouting session from his deranged mother was the last thing he needed. "I'm not doing that. Damn you, I'm not."

"You sure about that? Because it sure seems like it from where I'm standing."

She turned now, annoyance, guilt and frustration coalescing into anger. "Go to hell."

"Who knows? Maybe I will. But in the meantime, it'd be real nice if the few people who know I'm innocent treated me like a human being, not a potential Inferi. And yes, honey" he said, this time overriding her objections before she had a chance to make them. "That's exactly what you're doing. I may be dead in your time, Hermione, but I'm not now."

Complete silence ensued. Sirius half wondered if she was about to hex him. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought. A duel would be a novelty in the tedious days of this new type of incarceration.

He was entirely unprepared when tears started sliding down her cheeks. "Oh shit. Hermione, I'm sorry. C'mon, don't do that."

"I'm fine," she said hastily, turning her back on him. "I'm OK, really. And I'm sorry for… for that. I didn't mean to. I didn't realize I was doing it."

He nearly groaned aloud. If he'd known this would be the outcome of their confrontation, he would likely have gone to great lengths to make it easier for her to ignore him in the first place. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Hermione?"

"I'm fine," she said, and this time did turn around. He saw, with intense relief, that she'd got the tears under control. She even managed a smile. "Really. Sorry about the waterworks."

"Well," Back in his Hogwarts days, humour had always come to his rescue. It had been – _Christ_ – eighteen years ago, but he tried to think the way he would have back then. "It's not every day a pretty woman cries at the thought of life without me."

He could tell that almost set her off again, but she kept the smile in place. "Well, I'm done with that," she looked down, winced at the mess of books spread throughout the floor. "But not with this."

"D'you need any help?"

She started to refuse. Then seemed to think better of it. "You know what, I do. I don't even know what I'm looking for yet, so I was going to run a search on time-travel and Department of Mysteries references. I could cut it down in half if you helped."

"Done. Are we looking for something in particular?"

"Yes. I'm hoping to luck out and find precedent for this. Whatever _this_ is."

"At least half of these books are either pureblood rhetoric or treatises on dark magic, Hermione."

"Good, since I have to consider that my being here may very well be _due_ to dark magic."

"Yeah. There's one thing I don't get," he waved her sardonic expression aside. "Among other things. You said you were in the Ministry. Why did you end up here? Shouldn't you have landed in the same room?"

"I've been thinking about that. I have no answers yet. And it's not even the most pressing question. That would be why I travelled to the past in the first place. Everything I know about time-travel says, if anything, I should've travelled _forward_. Time-turners are the only artefact I know of that can go back, and that's forty-eight hours at most." And time-turners didn't exist anymore, not in her time. But he didn't need to know that.

"Oh. Well then. Let's get to work."

Nearly four hours after she'd started, Hermione had, with the help of Sirius, gone through one third of the library. They'd found a single reference to time-travel, the ever-familiar warning that terrible things happened to wizards who meddled with time.

"Useful," she growled, closing the book with a snap. "Because that isn't common knowledge or anything."

"You're the one who said it would be like finding a needle in a haystack," he reminded her. With a poorly disguised smirk on his face.

She threw him a look.

He raised his hands in mock-surrender. "Just saying."

She huffed out a breath. "Don't make me laugh when I'm cranky." But she smiled. "I appreciate the help, Sirius. Merlin knows how long it would take me to do this on my own."

He gestured the sentiment away. "Hey, I'm not on the verge of death by boredom today. I owe you."

The rest of Hermione's smile vanished. He _was_ on the verge of death, largely thanks to her. No matter how affable he seemed to be these days – and why he was so different from the man she remembered, she did not care to wonder – she knew she would carry the guilt for the rest of her life.

His own smile dimmed. "Shall we continue?"

Hermione pushed her thoughts aside. "Let's."

* * *

Remus found them several hours later. He poked his head through the door and chuckled. The sight of his best friend and his former student covered head to toe in dust was a welcome amusement in a day that had dragged on endlessly. "Dinner in twenty minutes. You two might want to clean up a little before joining us."

"More like a lot," Hermione said with a grimace. "I don't think I'm fit for group dinner tonight."

Sirius threw her a sidelong glance. "I'm sure they'll wait for us. Right, Moony?"

"For her, absolutely. For you? I don't know that we would."

"With friends like these. See why I can use you here, Hermione? Nobody appreciates me in this house."

It was a joke, she knew. But it struck a little too close to home. She wasn't sure she'd appreciated him herself back in the day. "You poor thing. OK then, I guess I'll go get cleaned up. It might take me a little longer than twenty minutes, but I'll be there."

"Take your time," Remus said easily. "She's not the only one who needs a shower, you know."

Sirius chuckled. "How about I go to dinner like this? That should give Molly another reason to lecture me."

"Can't you two stop antagonizing each other?" His friend demanded. "You don't have to like each other, but you're allies, for heaven's sake. Act like it."

"Give it up, Remus. I had a surprisingly pleasant time today, and I'm not in the mood to discuss a woman who happens to think I actually _chose_ to abandon Harry just so I could end up in Azkaban."

The little wrinkle on the bridge of his nose was a sure sign that Remus was about to argue, but seemed to think better of it. "A pleasant time? In this house?"

"Crazy, right? Turns out a time-traveller is enough of a novelty that even this pile of bricks can't destroy it."

"Hmm. That's good. And pretty damn amusing that it's the girl whose lectures annoyed you almost as much as Molly's that's responsible for keeping you entertained for once. Between her and Dumbledore, I doubt that she'll be here long though. So soak it up while you can."

Sirius blew out a breath after Remus walked out. No, Hermione wouldn't be around for long. But apparently neither would he.

People often asked what you would do if you only had a week, six months, o one year to live. He had wondered himself. He'd just never thought he'd be in a position to find out.

* * *

Hermione lined up her toiletries with the precision of a potions master choosing his ingredients. She meticulously chose the fluffiest towel she could find, stripped slowly, and stepped into the shower stall. Her movements were automatic, as though she were operating on autopilot, until she was beneath the stingy spray of water. Then she let herself cry.

Asking Sirius for had seemed a positive thing to her. He knew enough about the future that she didn't feel like she was deceiving him. She hadn't taken into consideration that would make every word he said to her, every look he gave her, somehow worse. He knew he'd end up dead, he knew she'd do nothing to change it, and yet he didn't seem to hold it against her.

Why?

Leaning her forearms on the slippery shower tiles, she tried to bring her memories of him into focus. He'd been reckless, moody and harsh, qualities she could identify in him still. But he'd also been bitter, hadn't he? Resentful and angry, eager for an actual life. The man she'd spent a good six hours with that day didn't seem bitter. Angry, yes. Resentful, absolutely. But save for the occasional flash in his eyes, he seemed entirely resigned to his circumstances.

It didn't seem like the Sirius Black she knew. Then again, she wondered if she'd known him at all.

* * *

Perched on his bed, Sirius flipped the pages of yet another magazine Kingsley had sent him. This time, there were claims of sightings of him in Lebanon. Maybe the search would move far away enough to get him some freedom, perhaps go for a run as Padfoot. He wouldn't hold his breath though.

He looked up at the soft knock on the door. "Come in," he said, figuring it was Remus, as he was the only one who had the patience to deal with his moods these days.

Hermione poked her head through the door. "May I come in?"

His brows winged up. "Sure. What's up?"

"I could use some company, and figured you might as well," she lifted the two steaming mugs she held. "I brought hot chocolate."

"Wow. I haven't had hot chocolate in," he trailed off. "Since Hogwarts, I think. There's company downstairs. More cheerful company."

"I'd actually rather be here. Everyone tries very hard not to ask me if _they're_ alive in my time, and I'm tired of pretending not to notice."

It sounded plausible. And yet… the look in her eye was a little too crafty for his liking. He'd bet a year of his life that Hermione was just feeling sorry for him and trying to keep him company.

He didn't want her pity.

But bugger it all, he didn't want to be alone tonight. He didn't want to be alone knowing that his time was running out.

"Are you planning to stand there all night?"

Her face relaxed. "No," she handed him one of the mugs before padding to the clunky chair across his bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "What were you reading?"

" _Warlock Today_. I got the cover."

"Ooh. Anything interesting?"

"I'm in Lebanon this week. I scared a year out of a little kid's life."

"D'you think he's telling the truth? He actually thinks he saw you?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he's just crying Grim. Either way, it takes attention away from here."

"Whatever works."

"My thoughts exactly. You were quiet at dinner."

"So were you."

"I believe the term the others use is _broody_ ," he said dryly. "Nobody blames you, Hermione."

She looked at him for a second, then quickly glanced away. "Somehow, that makes it worse."

He shrugged. "We all have our crosses to bear. Yours is guilt. Mine are Azkaban and death."

The no-nonsense answer tickled her even as it added another layer to her guilt. She'd been making this about her when it wasn't really. At the end of the day, she lived. He didn't. It was as simple as that. "I was thinking earlier you're not what I remembered. Good to know some things are the same."

"Not what you remembered?"

"Let's just say I used to think the word "broody" in conjunction with "Sirius" a lot. And bitter. You haven't been broody or bitter."

"Give me time. It's been barely a day."

"True. You always were one for mood swings."

"I'm a man. Teenagers and pregnant women have mood swings. Men are just emotionally unstable."

Hermione laughed. "I didn't realize you had a sense of humour, either."

He smiled. A real, unguarded smile that somehow made her breath catch. "Ditto."

Her sudden jolt made the forgotten mug on her lap wobble dangerously. She'd have ended up with lukewarm chocolate all over if Sirius hadn't had the presence of mind to cast a quick Petrificus Totalis in the direction of the beverage. Hermione stood, squeezing her cup with trembling hands.

He looked at her quizzically. "Something wrong?"

"No. Well, yes. Kind of. I have to…" Oh dear. "Go to the bathroom."

Sirius barked a laugh at her rapidly spreading blush. "Thanks for the chocolate. Leave your mug, I'll get them to the kitchen."

She managed to express thanks, all while her mind screamed at her _what have you_ done _?_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I know, I know. It's been nearly a year. I have no excuse, just the same justification of work, school, depression, blah blah. I won't make promises about when I'll manage to update next (not that you would believe them at this point), but I _will_ promise to finish this story eventually. We're already halfway there.

Thank you SO MUCH for the reviews, favourites and story alerts, guys. When I first thought about writing a time-travel tale, I never thought people would actually _read_ it, not with the hundreds of time-travel stories on this site. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me that you like this enough to care whether it gets updated or not.

Oh, and to the people asking me about happy endings – I think it depends on your definition of happy. I will say this though, real life too often sucks, and romance is one of my favourite genres for the guaranteed HEA or HFN. Make of that what you will.

Anyway. Essay over. I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you drop me a line if you do.

 **Disclaimer:** Yeah, no. Rowling might be a massive disappointment in many ways, but she's still far more prolific than I'll ever be. You might notice a familiar couple of paragraphs when Hermione's thinking about Sirius. I took it from an old SHr story of mine that I deleted some time ago.

~0~0~

"Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed." Leo Tolstoy, _Anna Karenina_

"There is such a thing as looking through a person's eyes into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth, and depth of another's soul in one hour than it might take you a lifetime to discover." Anne Brontë, _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_

~0~0~

She didn't want to face him, in the morning. Had she not already promised not to, she would've happily found a way to avoid him for the rest of her… stay, she supposed she could call it. Alas. She had given her word, and she wasn't one to break it.

"He's the one who's going to die," she muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed, already wishing for coffee. "And somehow he still manages to be functional. So suck it up."

If they kept up the rhythm of the previous day, it should only take them another couple of days to go through the entire library. Supposing it turned out to be a dead end, she'd already mentally compiled a list of books she might need. Arthur may be willing to get them for her when he swung by Diagon Alley.

That research, thankfully, she could do alone. This step required Sirius.

She found him in the downstairs kitchen, a giant mug in his hands and storm grey eyes staring into nothing.

"Good morning."

He looked at her in a way that reminded Hermione of a snippet of information she'd managed to forget: Sirius Black was _not_ a morning person.

"Hermione. You're up early."

"So are you. Which surprises me, come to think of it. I don't remember you usually being up before nine."

"True, and if more people adopted that habit, the world would be a better place. Unfortunately, I told Arthur I'd be port of call for any Order related business today."

"Where's Arthur? Where's everybody, for that matter?"

He started ticking with his fingers. "Arthur's already left for work, Remus is away on Moony duties, and Molly is packing. They're leaving tonight."

She paused, kettle suspended in the air. "Oh?"

"Didn't they mention it? Ah," he said before she could answer. "You've been avoiding them, too."

Well… yes. Molly and Arthur might not die, but their child would. She was having just a little bit of trouble (look at that, she was gifted in understatement, too) looking them in the eye.

"Not exactly," she said, because she didn't need him wondering who else would die because of this merlinforsaken war. And to distract him, "Are you still willing to help me go through the library?"

"Yeah. Just let me have one hour. And more coffee."

She rose to pour it for him. "Sugar?"

"Five spoonsful."

Hermione met his eyes. "You know, I can actually _feel_ my teeth rotting."

He looked sheepish. Compellingly so. "I have, what do Muggles call it? A sweet tooth. It wasn't so bad when I was a teenager, but since Azkaban…" He shook himself of the mood. "I like my coffee sweet. See you later, then?"

Would any conversation with Sirius Black involve an emotional minefield? Swallowing through the lump in her throat, she nodded. Placing the mug in front of him, she made to leave. "You know where to find me."

~0~0~

Arthur and Molly left that night. Bill was ready to part in the morning, all set to move into an apartment near Gringotts and –she suspected– Fleur. Remus was away on what she quickly learned was part of his pseudo-undercover missions.

Just like that, she was alone with Sirius.

Living with him proved surprisingly easy. They were both private people who kept to themselves, but their current circumstances meant that neither wanted to be alone most of the time. They spent most of their time in the library, poring through books in an increasingly obvious lost cause. When they (and by then she meant Sirius) got bored and called it a day, they'd usually settle in the drawing room; he alternately reading a book and staring into space, she alternately reading a book and staring into the lit fireplace.

They didn't talk much, but it was a good silence, a comfortable one. It reminded Hermione of countless evening sitting in the Gryffindor common room, reading while Harry and Ron talked or played chess.

God, but she missed them.

"Have you got a letter from Harry recently?" She asked, curious. Back in their fifth year her best friend tended to keep his communications with his godfather to himself. He'd known she was likely to chastise him.

"Mhmm. It's mostly a rant against Umbridge."

She shuddered. "I'd nearly forgotten her. Ugh."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse," and then, because this could lead to a dangerous topic, she moved on to another. "I haven't seen Kreacher in a while."

"Lucky you. I stumble upon the worthless little bastard at least once a day."

Hermione frowned instinctively at the epithet, but pushed it away in favour of more pressing matters. "Are… you treating him well?"

"I haven't kicked him out of the house, if that's what you mean."

"No, I meant… be careful what you say in front of him, Sirius. A- and _to_ him."

He straightened, eyes flaring up. "What does he do? Don't fucking tell me you can't say. You can't just drop hints and then shut up."

True. It had slipped out, an unconscious attempt to try and save Sirius' life. Consciously, however, she knew she had to let things happen as they were meant to. "I'm worried he's going to see me, then tell somebody about it."

"He can't. He's bound to obey me."

"House-elves can disobey their… masters," she spat out the already horrid term instead of the one she really wanted to use – slaveowners. "If they want it badly enough. They just have to punish themselves later. So be careful, okay? We can't have my stay here getting out."

"All right, all right. Thing is, he already knows you're here. House-elves know everything that happens in their masters' properties, regardless of whether they're physically present or not."

"Oh," she stared at him. "Damn."

He shrugged. "Eh, time-travel is a closed loop, right? If you're here now, you were here then."

"Oh," said Hermione again, then made an annoyed face he guessed was self-directed. "Of course."

"Forgot a piece of information, huh? Unusual."

"Oh, shut up," with a laugh, she rose from her place on the armchair, a long woollen jumper falling almost to her knees. "I'm going to bed. I think we can finish going through the books tomorrow, if we get up early."

"Early? There better be caffeine."

"Yes, yes. Just be up by seven."

~0~0~

He was up by seven, back to work by eight.

They'd finished by ten.

Sirius gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry."

"Explain to me why your family compiled, what, five thousand books, only to come up with a grand total of _zero useful ones_?"

His brows shot up. "Far be it from me to defend my family, Hermione, but I hardly think they considered a time-traveller looking for her way back home a possibility to prepare for."

She didn't smile. Her fingers itched with the urge to smash this whole damn room into shambles. Yes, she'd prepared herself for the possibility of finding nothing, but possibility and reality were not the same thing. She was stuck here, surrounded by the living dead, and for the first time in her life books were absolutely no help.

A hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Hermione Granger doesn't get discouraged that easily. Does she?"

 _She damn well does_. But Hermione sighed. "Of course not. This just means I have to turn to Plan B."

"Which is?"

"Finding more books."

He barked out a laugh. "I should've known you'd say that. Here, let me put these away." He picked up several books and started manually putting them back in place.

"Thanks. Oh wait, be careful, I saw…" She winced at the muffled curse. "A letter opener. I guess you found it."

"No, _really_?" Sarcasm dripping from his tone, Sirius gritted his teeth and removed it from his hand. Fisting it tightly to slow the flow of blood, he scowled. "I never would have known."

"Sorry. Here, let me fix it." Gently, softly, she pulled open his fist. "Okay, okay. I think it's not as bad as it looks."

"Oh yeah? Does it look as bad as it feels?"

She led him to a chair, unceremoniously shoved him on it. Coming to her knees in front of him, she pulled out her wand. "This is going to hurt a little. I'm sorry."

It felt like Firewhiskey being poured into his wound. " _A little_?"

She gave him a fleeting smile. "Really sorry."

He blew out a breath. _Think of something else_. "So what books are you after?"

"I don't quite know," she admitted. "I was planning on requesting a catalogue from Flourish and Blotts, and owling Dumbledore. I should easily be able to come up with a dozen or two."

"So Plan B is going to take a while, then?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad." He shrugged, unapologetic. "I would be all alone with only Kreacher for company if you left."

"Oh, so you like me more than the elf you hate? Flattering."

"Don't let it get to your head." He grinned, then yelped – no other word for it – when she squeezed his hand in retaliation. "Very funny."

"I thought so. Ookay, good to go."

He looked at his hand, still held in hers. The gash was closed, and all that remained was a small scar.

"I'll brew you a Scar Vanishing potion later."

"Don't bother. This is fine," his hand closed around hers. "Thanks."

She tried to speak, to say something trite and commonplace, like "any time" or "happy to be of service", but her throat went dry. Oh God. Giving a little cough, she pulled her hand free. "Er… yes. Of course. I should go."

She fled.

~0~0~

Hermione had not developed a reputation for logic and competence by lying to herself. Tempting though it was, she didn't intend to start now.

She was attracted to him. Without rhyme or reason, she'd somehow fallen in lust, or like, _or whatever_ with a man who, a) was her best friend's godfather, b) was, in normal time, nearly twenty years older than she was, and c) was, technically, dead. Or would be in a matter of months.

Clearly, she'd lost her mind. Become certifiably insane. Flipped her lid.

Pick your cliché.

She stared at the amber liquid in her glass. It was past midnight, Sirius was fast asleep, and she had the house to herself. Levitating a notepad and a quill into the kitchen, she set down to do what she did best. Get to the root of the problem and take it from there.

Logically, in order to be _un_ attracted to him, she needed to figure out what attracted her in the first place. Resting her chin on her folded arms, she tried to conjure up the image of Sirius in her mind. A kaleidoscope of mental photographs ensued.

Who knew she had so many memories of the man?

He wasn't handsome, not really. He had been, once upon a time; she could tell from the well-defined line of his profile and the depth of his eyes. But twelve years in Azkaban, added to the soul-crushing grief of losing nearly everybody he held dear, had chased away his good looks, leaving behind a far too thin man with more lines on his face than should be expected of one so young.

She let herself linger on the memory of him, tried to take in every little thing that made him Sirius Black. His eyes were what first called to her. In truth, if she was honest with herself, they always had: dark and dangerous in ways she'd once been too young to understand but old enough to recognise, they told an endless array of stories if one would so much as pay attention. Of all the witches and wizards she knew, Sirius was the one best defined by his House: Gryffindor personified, nothing about him was ever subtle. Brave and reckless, he was all movement and noise and _intensity_. His eyes burned with it, threatening to scorch everything and everyone that dared stand in its path.

Since when did that kind of rashness appeal to her? Gods. Viktor had been sweet, Ron had been –mostly– affable, Matthew had been… well. Point taken. But hey, every woman was entitled to one mistake. And she'd never been one to make the same mistake twice. Until now, apparently.

Hell. What attracted her to Sirius was… Sirius. She couldn't un-Sirius Sirius.

Nowhere, Portkey for one.

~0~0~

Sirius was delighted when Hedwig flew in the next morning with a letter from Harry.

 _Dear Snuffles:_

 _Hope you're doing OK. Me, I'm doing fine. I'm sure you've heard interesting things about things at Hogwarts, but we're none of us worried about it._

 _The first Hogsmeade weekend was just here! It was uneventful but fun. Wish you could've met us there. R and I got a present for H – it's her birthday today. We settled on a book and some Honeydukes chocolate._

 _Please write back soon._

 _Best,_

 _Harry._

Decoding the letter was hardly a strain. His godson was _not_ doing fine, everyone _was_ in fact worried about the events going on at Hogwarts, and for some reason the weekend _had_ been eventful and _un_ fun. He'd have to ask Hermione about it.

Switching her birthday, though? That made no sense. So it must be true. Idly stirring more sugar into his coffee, he wondered why she hadn't mentioned it.

~0~0~

"Why didn't you tell me today is your birthday?"

Hermione looked up from the egg whites she was beating. "What? How did you… Oh. Letter from Harry?"

He nodded.

"I hope he was discreet."

"Yeah, yeah. Why didn't you tell me it's your birthday?"

"Because it's not," she poured the eggs into a mixing bowl. "I hope you like macarons."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Your birthday isn't on 19 September?"

"No, it is, but this isn't _my_ birthday. You forget I'm in the wrong time period."

"Oh," he blew out a breath. "I just assumed… What day was it? When you left?"

"Actually, _that_ was my birthday. Hand me the clean piping bag, will you? Sirius?"

He'd come up short. "You travelled through time on your birthday?"

"Yes, so…" She stopped cold. "You think it might be significant?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. But it's worth looking into. That's not why I asked, though," he rested his hand on her shoulder. "Some birthday present, that was. I'm sorry."

Trying to ignore the feel of his hand on her shoulder – it was unseasonably cold, so she was wearing approximately a hundred layers of clothing, dammit. There was no _reason_ for it to feel like his hand was burning clear through them all– she shook her head. "It's okay. Actually," she said softly, wishing she hadn't tied up her hair in a bun, so it could shield her expression from him, "Getting to see you again was a pretty nice present."

His tone softened. "Getting to meet the adult you isn't a half bad experience, either."

She glanced at him. She'd never had trouble with eye contact, but this moment felt too… intimate.

He was watching her steadily, his hand inching a little closer to the side of her neck. Hermione wondered, fleetingly, if maybe he…

He dropped his hand with a smile. "I guess it's too early for celebratory wine, but I'll make you some coffee, okay?"

She would take that as a no.

~0~0~

Sirius had lived through a lot of things he'd once considered impossibilities. Losing James and Lily. Being betrayed by Pete. Spending twelve years in Azkaban. _Escaping_ from Azkaban. Meeting a time-traveller.

All of that paled in comparison to finding himself attracted to Hermione Granger.

When he'd met her, he had barely paid attention to her. All his interest was split between Harry and Wormtail, which had left little room for anything else. He'd only noticed her, briefly, when she'd addressed him directly, more politely than anyone else had in over a decade. Then she'd saved him from being kissed by Dementors, and that was that.

She'd become a permanent part of the small circle of people he'd die to protect.

But he'd never really known her, and had had no particular interest in knowing her, either. She was well-meaning and polite, wickedly clever, and nearly as annoying as Molly. That was his perception of Hermione as she had been as a teenager.

Then she showed up at his house, a grown woman who refused to be struck down no matter how many Snitches life threw her way. She was still well-meaning, and she was still polite – for the most part, anyway. Merlin knew she was still cleverer than most people he knew. But she was also… stunning. Not physically; physically she was pretty in a subdued way. It was the way she carried herself, that confidence he knew for a fact must be hard-earned. Her wit, her compassion, that little victorious glow to her smile when she won one of their verbal sparring sessions. And still, it wasn't until the moment she'd flushed a little, shivering, when his hand had landed on her shoulder that he found himself seeing her differently.

If being attracted to a woman he'd known as a child wasn't enough of a shock, having said woman reciprocate that attraction was nothing short of a Cruciatus at full power.

He wasn't sure whether he wanted to –or, rather, should– pursue anything with Hermione, but... Well, he wasn't one for self-sacrifice unless it was unavoidable. For the first time in years, Sirius' life held unexpected possibilities. _Good_ ones.

They'd see where they went from there.

~0~0~

They'd been alone together for over a week, circling each other in a strange state of uncertainty, when somebody else finally came to visit and broke the monotony. She'd been in the shower when she'd heard a crash two floors down, followed by a litany of shrieking insults and abuse.

Tonks had woken up Mrs. Black.

With a grin, Hermione dressed and ran down the stairs, only to find the hallway blessedly silent and her housemate glaring at his shame-faced cousin.

"I'm sorry!" Tonks wailed. "I didn't notice the…"

"Umbrella stand that has literally been in the exact same spot since before I was born? The one you have been consistently tripping over ever since you first stepped foot in this house?"

"Leave her alone," Hermione called from the stair landing. "You'll wake up your mother again if you keep on hammering about."

He rolled his eyes. "No, darling, if anything wakes up my mother again, it will be you shouting from all the way up there."

Darling? She tried not to ponder on that. "Sorry. Hi, Tonks. I didn't know you were coming."

"I had the afternoon free, thought you two might like some company," she gave Sirius a narrowed-eyed look. "Although it looks like only one of you deserves it."

Hermione stepped in before they could go another round. "You thought right. Would you like some tea? Coffee? I baked some muffins this morning."

"Ooh, what kind? Tea would be great."

"Yeah, because you're obviously not energetic enough," Sirius muttered, following them down the stairs to the basement kitchen. "Caffeine is just what you need."

"That's not nice," Tonks pointed out. "Behave, or no news for you."

"Oh?" He asked from the pantry, fishing out Hermione's third batch of muffins this week (she was a stress-baker, he'd come to learn) while she put the kettle on.

"An Order meeting is coming up. Albus wants to bring us up to date on the prophecy, and discuss plans moving forward. Apparently, Snape will be here."

"Excellent. No one has insulted me in the past three weeks, I rather miss it," Sirius said when he came back, a hand pressed to his chest in mock-nostalgia.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Sure, because the insults don't go both ways. You're a darling to Snape while he grievously mistreats you."

" _I'm_ not a Death-Eater."

"Well, neither is he. Anymore," she added quickly when Sirius opened his mouth. "And weren't you awful to him in school? Mum said that you and your friends bullied him endlessly."

"That was _in school_." As in, _nearly twenty years ago_. Wasn't there a statute of limitation for school-based idiocy?

"I hardly think the time lapse will matter to Snape," said Hermione dryly. "We aren't talking playground taunting here, are we? That would be bad enough, but I've heard some things, too."

His head whipped around. Sirius stared at her. "Did you, now."

"Uh-huh."

"And… Harry?"

"Not yet."

He closed his eyes. "Great."

Tonks was watching Hermione, brow furrowed. "Y'know, I don't think I'll ever get used to this."

"To what?"

"This," a hand waved between them. "You knowing what's going to happen while we're completely in the dark. I mean, I could be dead tomorrow, and out of the three of us, you'd be the only one to know. It's weird."

Her breath hitched. She couldn't speak. Luckily, Tonks had already shifted in her seat to face her cousin. "Anyway, don't go around picking fights with Snape. Your silly rows always make these meetings last nearly twice as long as they should."

Sirius snorted. "I won't pick a fight with Snape. But I can't promise he won't pick a fight with me."

Recovered, Hermione rose to fetch the steaming kettle. "Last I checked, you were an adult. You can choose not to engage."

"No, he can't," sipping from her cup, Tonks sighed. "I'm pretty sure Blacks are genetically incapable of walking away from a fight. Mum always blames her temper on her family. It's all the–"

"Inbreeding," Sirius finished, a ghost of a smirk on his face.

"Exactly! I always figured she was spouting bullshit, but after meeting Mr. Convict here I'm inclined to agree."

"When is this meeting happening?" Hermione asked. "I'll have to make myself scarce."

"Couple of days. Any chance you'll bake more of these? They're better than Molly's."

Hermione winced. "Don't let her hear you say that." No need for Tonks to die before her time.

~0~0~

He accosted her in the drawing-room.

"What does Harry know?"

Hermione sighed, putting a marker in her book and setting it down. "Pretty much everything, I guess. I mean, not every isolated incident, but I figure he has a general idea of their scope. What's the worst thing you ever did to Snape, anyway?"

He cleared his throat. "I… That is to say, we…"

"Froze him in mid-air while you lifted his robes in front of all of Hogwarts?" She asked casually, rather pleased when she saw him flinch. She'd been a little afraid it'd got to be worse than that.

"Yeah," he looked at her, hesitant. "I'd have thought you wouldn't want anything to do with me after finding that out."

She sighed. "I'm not delighted to know you were a bully, no. But you're not a teenager anymore. And whatever your faults, I'd say twelve years in Azkaban were punishment enough."

He moved to take her hand, then thought better of it. Whatever happened between them, they both needed more time to think it through. Neither of them knew when she'd be able to leave, and only she knew when he was going to die. There could be no moving out for either of them if their relationship degenerated into one continual shouting match.

"If I were you, I'd be prepared to have that conversation with Harry sooner or later."

Sirius blew out a breath, thoughts of potential brief affairs with pretty time-travellers temporarily set aside. "I will."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Happy New Year! Behold a new chapter. This took forever, _again_ , but slightly less than last time, so progress, yeah? (Go with me here, please.) If my outline behaves from now on, we have only two more chapters to go. Possibly an epilogue, too.

I apologize in advance for any and all legend butchering I've done. You'll see what I mean. I do, however, hope you enjoy this - and if you do, please drop a line to tell me so.

 **Disclaimer:** Do we really need to do this every time? Still not mine.

* * *

"There was something in Tommy's manner that was tinged with sadness, that seemed to say: "Yes, we're doing this now and I'm glad we're doing it now. But what a pity we left it so late." Kazuo Ishiguro, _Never Let Me Go_.

* * *

The evening of the Order meeting came at last. Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, doing inventory of the books Dumbledore had dropped off earlier. Against all precedent, however, she seemed unable to focus, her mind centred on what was taking place two floors beneath her room.

The sense of déjà vu was staggering. Here she was, back at Grimmauld Place, an adult this time, but still tucked away in the upper floors while the active participants decided what to do next. She couldn't, and wouldn't, complain – why would she, when she was not about to try and change anything anyway? But it rankled all the same.

The hell of it was, she was dead certain she would've made the same choices Dumbledore was making, had she been the one in charge.

Damn practicality.

With a sigh, she examined the stack of books. It included formative works such as _A Comprehensive History of Time-Travel_ and _Racing Through Time_ , as well as intriguing lesser known volumes – like the slim tome currently resting next to her tea, _Temporal and Dimensional Travel: Myths and Legends_. She'd even decided to ask for a few Muggle tomes on theoretical physics. Maybe Stephen Hawking might be able to help.

Flipping a random book open, she ran her fingers through the index. The chapters didn't appear to follow any sort of alphabetical or chronological order. King Raivata Meets Brahma came right after The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, both immediately succeeded by Urashima Taro and Ryjin.

Frustrated by what appeared to be yet another dead end, she ran her fingers through her hair. This was going to take a while.

Her head snapped up when she heard the yelling downstairs. Her battle-honed instincts had her grasping her wand and shooting up from the bed… only to roll her eyes when she recognised the voices.

Sirius and Snape were at it again.

Honestly, why two grown men couldn't get past their feud when, oh, _the fate of the world_ was at stake, she would never know. But she hoped they gave it up soon. She wanted the meeting over so she could come out of this room.

* * *

Sirius transferred his glare from Snape's retreating form to his cousin and tried to dislodge the hand tugging at his sleeve. "Knock it off."

"He's gone. Stop glaring."

"I'm not glaring."

"Aren't you? Hmm." She turned to Kingsley. "What do you think? It sure seems like glaring to me."

Kingsley's lips twitched. "Hell no. I didn't make it through one war and part of another not knowing not to get pulled into a Black argument."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Spoilsport. How's Hermione?" She asked her cousin. "I was going to drop by and talk to her, but I'm knackered. I'm going straight home."

Sirius looked up, as though he were going to develop Moody's magical eye and see through two floors and into her room. "She's fine. Dumbledore left her some books, which I imagine will keep her busy until the New Year."

"That's not all that long," Kingsley pointed out, shrugging into his grey coat. "We're nearly at the end of October."

Christ. He'd been in the house since May. Was he really going to spend his last days trapped in this hellhouse? His stomach roiled at the thought.

Evidently aware that he'd stepped on a sore subject, Kingsley changed the subject. "Anyway, say hi to Hermione for me, will you? I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to come and see her. I've been swamped."

"She knows how busy you are."

Kingsley chuckled. "She would. Hopefully I'll be able to drop by in a week or two. See you."

* * *

Kingsley's remark was still on his mind upon waking. Sirius noticed Hermione glancing at him repeatedly throughout the morning, probably biting her tongue to keep from asking what was wrong.

He almost grinned. She was better at hiding her thoughts than she'd been as a teenager, but that was hardly saying much.

"Is there something on my face?" He asked mildly, swallowing a chuckle when she jumped. "Since you keep staring at it."

She made a face. "You could've at least had the decency to pretend not to notice."

"Oh, like you are doing now?"

She gave up. "What's wrong? Aside from everything," she added when he raised his brows.

"Aside from everything? Nothing much."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. You've been in a mood all morning. Come to think of it, you've been in a mood since last night, but I chalked it up to the aftermath of Snape. Now I wonder if I was wrong."

"It's nothing, Hermione. Drop it."

Aggravation strained her features. "You can talk to me, you know."

"I know. It doesn't follow that I _want_ to talk."

She didn't reply, but he was certain he heard her mutter "men" under her breath.

He smiled, amused. Hell, he hoped she wouldn't leave before he died. Who would have known that Hermione Granger of all people would turn out to be the one person who could always make him smile?

"How's the research going?" He asked, instead of openly acknowledging something she was probably better off not knowing.

The look she gave him told him he was not yet off the hook, but she obliged. "It's going, but I can't qualify it yet. I've narrowed down the time-travel myths and legends that seem to have a basis in fact. My next step is looking for a pattern that might have been repeated here."

"Any legend that I know of?"

"Maybe? So far, the Muggle tradition of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus seems to have some potential to help. Two different religions claim that a group of young men hid in a cave to escape persecution, only to come out of the cave a few hundred years later."

"How is that relevant to your case?"

"I came into a room, ended up somewhere else. And yes," she hastened to add. "There are several key differences. But I have to start somewhere."

He was silent for a moment. "What about Arthur Pendragon?"

"What about him?" She asked, confused by the non sequitur.

"Legend says that he will return and rule Britain eventually."

"So?"

"When I was growing up, my mother loved to brag about the Black heritage going all the way back to King Arthur."

"But he was a Muggle." The question of why his pureblood supremacist mother would relish a connection to a Muggle went unspoken, but understood.

"Yes, but it is a fairly accepted theory that he was Morgana's half-brother. So if our blood goes back to Arthur, it also goes back to one of the most extraordinary witches in history. A witch who, according to legend, could keep her brother alive for centuries."

Excitement beginning to simmer as she absorbed what he was saying, she finished his train of thought. "What if the real roots of the legend lie in time-travel? What if, instead of defying death, something only one wizard has managed to do so far, she defied the time-space continuum instead?"

It hit her like the Hogwarts Express. This felt like a real lead. Blood magic. It all came together to form the beginnings of a workable hypothesis she could begin to develop into a real theory.

But first things first.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me this before? I've been fumbling around for weeks!"

"It didn't even occur to me that it might be relevant! The idea only took shape in my mind once you started explaining your research so far."

She waved a hand, frustrated. "Oh, never mind. This is good, Sirius. This might be a real clue. This might send me back home."

Exhilaration was effervescent in her bloodstream. So much so, that she missed Sirius' quick flinch at the words.

* * *

On the first day of November, Hermione looked out her bedroom window, lips curving when she noticed the tiny flakes falling from the sky.

Without bothering to get dressed, she threw on a fluffy bathrobe and raced up the two flights of stairs between her own room and Sirius'. Knocking on his door, she sent up a fervent wish that the snow would stick around at least all morning.

"Sirius," she called. "Sirius!"

The door flung open, an irritated Sirius Black watching her wearily from the doorframe. Noticing he was wearing only pyjama pants, she did her level best to keep her eyes firmly on his face. "Good lord, woman, what the hell do you want?"

Normally, she would've answered sarcastically, but she felt as giddy as a little girl who'd unexpectedly got out of school.

Well, not _herself_ as a little girl, but still.

"It's snowing," she said with a grin. Her enthusiasm must've been obvious, because he started to smile.

"Is it, now?"

"Yes. Come on!" The second he threw on a sweater, she took his hand and dragged him down the corridor. "This calls for waffles."

His surprised laughter rang out. "I didn't know you liked snow this much."

She shrugged it away. "I don't really. But there's something to be said for the first snow of the season. It's like every ugly thing in the world is just… cleared away."

"Snow has its hands full, then." Down in the kitchen, Sirius pulled out a tin, started measuring coffee. "It might want to try clearing away this house."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Out with it," he said mildly, pouring coffee into two mugs. Her attention was momentarily diverted by his hands. God, she wanted them on her. Soon.

"Have you tried… redecorating?"

She recognized his responding look. It was the same "what the hell is she blabbering on about?" look that she used to get from Harry and Ron whenever she came up with a solution to a problem and they considered it absurd.

Even if it _was_ a perfectly logical answer, thank you very much.

"There is a war going on out there, I'm a wanted fugitive with only a few more months or years to live, and you want me to redecorate?"

Well, when he put it like that.

"You're stuck in this house," she stated, her tone reasonable. "The things you mentioned, you can't change. But maybe changing some things in here, clearing away all the, well, hate, might help."

A little spark of irritation flared up in his eyes. "Unless clearing some things in here will get my Azkaban sentence revoked or somehow save my life, I really don't see the point."

She acknowledged the stab of guilt, absorbed it. "But…"

"But nothing. I really don't have the energy or interest to make any changes here that I won't be around to enjoy. I'll light a fire in the drawing room. It'd be a shame to have a snowstorm without a fire."

He walked past her without another word.

* * *

Hermione blinked back tears as she fished out what she would need, her enthusiasm for the task lost. She measured flour, whisked eggs, and reached for a carton of milk, all on autopilot.

She'd known Sirius was going to die. Of course she had. She just… didn't like to think about it. It seemed unreal, to witness all that intensity and life in him, and know it would all be gone in a matter of months.

She had missed him when he died, that first time. Not nearly as much as Harry or Remus, or any of his other friends had, of course. But now… Now his death would devastate her. There was nothing she could do about that, except risk countless lives by trying to change the timeline. She couldn't do that.

So she'd just have to live with losing him, and all the pain and guilt that would ensue.

She headed to the drawing room, a platter of waffles, a coffee pot and two mugs levitating in front of her. Feeding him right now was the least she could do. That, and swallowing her own grief so she wouldn't burden him with it.

He was standing by the window, gazing intently upon the rapidly gathering snow. A muscle was twitching in his cheek. He tried to put up a good front, but he had not fooled her when she was sixteen and barely acquainted with him, and he could not begin to hope to fool her now. Not when she was an adult, and they were… friends? Something less?

Something more?

Good Merlin in Camelot. What the hell was she _waiting_ for?

He glanced in her direction, eyebrow quirking when he saw her standing silently in the doorframe. "How long have you been standing there? I won't be nice about it if the coffee went cold. Hermione?"

All the breakfast items came to rest gently on a side table. Taking a deep breath, Hermione took a step forward. And another.

She advanced until she was only centimeters away from him. Realization struck him belatedly, his eyes widening as she reached out and slowly took his hand, tracing his palm slowly with trembling fingers.

"Her-" his voice hitched. He swallowed, tried again. "Hermione."

She didn't look up: her eyes had been on his own the entire time. "Yes?"

"Does this mean what I think it does?" His voice, so low and rough, sent a delicious little shiver down her spine.

"It does."

"Are you sure?"

"Do I look _un_ sure?" She demanded, drawing a little smile from him. She traced the creases on his cheek with a fingertip, smiling herself when he sucked in a breath. "And anyway, I should be the one asking that question. Unless I'm very mistaken, you haven't had sex in, what, fourteen years?"

Every inch of his body was so taut, he felt ready to explode. "Just about," he cleared his throat. "I'm not going to be very impressive, I'm afraid."

"I wasn't a good chess player as a child," she said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"Er. Okay?"

She shook her head, feeling in complete control of the situation. Loving it. "But I'm a firm believer in practicing, especially if you don't succeed at first," she stood on tiptoe, her hands resting on his chest. "What do you think?"

What did he _think_? Fuck it, he couldn't think at all. "My mind is blank," he admitted.

"An excellent start. Do you really want those waffles?"

She laughed when, for all response, he buried his fingers in her hair and brought his mouth down to hers.

* * *

Had she thought she was in control? Hermione wondered, before her thoughts fell away like water under the feel of Sirius' hands on her face, his mouth on hers. Forget practice, the man was a natural.

She made a soft noise at the back of her throat, luxuriating in the way his hands fell to her shoulders, her breasts, her waist. He _was_ in a hurry, not that she was surprised. But damn if he couldn't pull off fast. And she could tell he was holding himself back, trying to make it good for her.

So far, so good.

She slid her hands under his sweater, her throat going dry at the feel of his stomach muscles tightening under her palms. His kisses became deeper, more feverish, as she pushed herself up against him, running her hands over his back. Then he pushed her robe over her shoulders, and…

Went completely still.

She opened her eyes to see him watching her, more amusement than lust in those gorgeous storm-grey eyes of his. "Sirius?"

"Interesting choice of pyjamas."

Blankly, she looked down.

Oh.

 _Right._

She didn't have any of her own pyjamas with her, so upon her arrival, she'd transfigured some out of an old pair of curtains. The fuzzy orange fabric had reminded her of Crookshanks, and had therefore been a comfort, but they weren't exactly attractive.

 _Drat_.

"If I were in full possession of my wit, I would make a dry, clever comment right now," she said, a little breathlessly. "But I stopped thinking several minutes ago, so why don't we pretend I made the aforementioned comment and leave it at that?"

"I don't know, Hermione. It's pretty distracting. We might just have to take it off, if only to protect the moment."

Her laughter came out choked. "I'm a firm believer in moment preservation."

Chuckling under his breath, he turned in a circle and apparated them into his room.

* * *

Upon waking, it took Hermione a moment to remember. She opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings – including the man sleeping next to her, an arm flung around her waist – in some bemusement. It wasn't simply her imagination, was it? Her life was weird.

Traveling nine years into the past? Check. Sleeping with her best friend's godfather? Check. Getting involved with a man who inhabited a different time period? Check. Developing feelings for a wanted fugitive? Check.

Most of these events could be considered somewhat normal (albeit unusual) by her standards, but all together they defied even her own warped notion of normality.

Well. She was nothing if not adaptable.

She turned to face him. In normal circumstances, Sirius Black carried energy the way other wizards carried a wand: it was so much a part of him, one hardly even noticed it. But now, he looked relaxed in a way she'd never seen him before. His features, so firm they appeared harsh sometimes, look peaceful, almost soft.

God, he was beautiful. She had never really noticed how good looking he was, beneath the pale complexion and the premature creases on his face. She loved looking at him.

She was going to miss him.

Because that thought brought a lump to her throat, Hermione shot out of bed and shrugged into his discarded sweater. She'd make belated pancakes.

* * *

He found her in the kitchen. Unlike Hermione, Sirius had woken up completely attuned to his surroundings, and fully, blissfully aware of every event that had taken place within the past twenty-four hours.

Thank Merlin for time-traveling.

With enough energy to power up a nuclear station (not that he knew what that meant, but it had been one of Lily's favorite sayings), he dragged on a pair of sweatpants and headed in pursuit of Hermione. If the weeks they had lived together were anything to go by, she'd be either in the library working, or in the kitchen baking. Eager to see her, and not too enthused with the idea of walking from one end of the house to another, he cast a quick Homenum Revelio.

The kitchen it was.

She was wearing his sweater, he noticed with a ridiculous feeling of self-satisfaction. If she had any regrets about what they'd done, she'd hardly walk around the house barely dressed. And, he noted with only slightly less interest, she was making pancakes again.

He was starting to share her love of the first snow of the season.

"Are you planning to stand there all afternoon?" She asked lightly.

He grinned. "I was merely contemplating something."

The look she gave him made it clear she'd not missed the hidden meaning. "Make yourself useful and set the table. I'm hungry."

His lips quirked, but he didn't make the joke on the tip of his tongue. See, he could be mature. Or something. "Deal."

Within minutes, he'd guzzled down a generous serving of pancakes, doused with liters of syrup. Hermione shook her head. "How do you still have all your teeth? My god, my parents would hate you. Or love you, come to think of it. You'd be their biggest challenge."

Sirius gave a little smirk. "Magic, my dear."

"Just for that, you're doing the dishes too." Then she tilted her head. "I was planning to work today. Looks like we took a detour."

"Evidently." Amused, he looked at her face. Her expression was frank, open. "Regrets?"

"None whatsoever. You?"

"Do I have regrets, she asks." Sirius scoffed. "Right now, my only regret is that we didn't do this sooner."

"There is something to be said for building up anticipation," Hermione pointed out.

"Not when you haven't had sex in fourteen years, there isn't."

She made a little choking sound. "Good point. I don't think I would care for such a long period of celibacy myself."

"How long has it been for you?"

"A few months. Eight or nine, I think."

"Well. We wouldn't want that to happen again. I'm here for you."

She tried to swallow down the laugh, but Sirius' face held such open joy and teasing that she couldn't quite manage it. "The generosity, it's staggering."

"It's the least I can do," he said, gesturing magnanimously.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"Eat your pancakes." But she was smiling.

* * *

That's how Dumbledore found them.

They had finished the pancakes, but they were still sitting at the table, Sirius having brewed more coffee, and Hermione running her newly formed theory by him.

"Sirius. Hermione." If he was at all surprised by the sight of Hermione and Sirius half dressed in the middle of the afternoon, he didn't show it. "I apologise for the intrusion."

She would _not_ blush. "Headmaster. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I was hoping to have a few words with you. Alone."

A muscle twitched in Sirius's cheek. Quickly coming to recognise it as a sign of frustration, Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure that whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of Sirius."

"Very well. I have conducted some inquiries in an attempt to find the underlying cause of your situation, Ms. Granger."

She went cold. "And…?"

"I believe I might have stumbled upon our first answers. Tell me, what do you know of Arthurian history?" Noticing the quick look exchanged between Hermione and Sirius, he nodded. "Good. How much do you know?"

She told him, doing her level best to hide her trepidation. "Can you provide any new information?"

"I believe so. You see, there are multiple artifacts in the Department of Mysteries. Despite the name, most of them have well documented usages. The Veil, however, is an exception."

The Veil. Oh my god. "In which way?"

"It is said that it operates somewhat like a black hole. It warps time and space. Some say it was created by Morgana Le Fay as a portal across realms, a faster way to move from Camelot to Avalon. It was found in Glastonbury Isle, only a few meters away from Arthur Pendragon's tomb."

She frowned. "He was a Muggle. What on earth would he be doing with a magic tapestry on him? Did Morgana leave it for him? Did Merlin?"

"Possibly, but unlikely. I don't know if you remember the circumstances of the tomb's discovery…"

"Of course. He was found by a group of monks, probably in a last-ditch attempt to gain funds for their monastery by claiming it was the King of Britain's resting place. He…" Her eyes widened. "There was a second corpse."

"Yes. A smaller one, with blonde hair. Many believe it to be Morgana's body."

"They were siblings," she said slowly. "And she and her sisters reigned over Avalon. It was common for monarchs to be buried with their most prized possessions."

"Indeed. Morgana was a witch of the highest caliber. If she was the one who created the Veil… well, it stands to reason that she would consider it her magnus opus."

"You're saying I was sucked into the Veil by some sort of magical orbit force and spat out eight years into the past?"

"Essentially."

"But…" Her breath hitched. "I always thought that falling through the Veil meant dying outright." _Was there any chance Sirius had survived the fall?_ But she couldn't ask. Neither of the men in the room knew about the events that would take place in the Department of Mysteries in six months' time.

Still, his answer sent her mind into overdrive.

"Under the light of recent events, it does look as though people who have fallen through the Veil are not dead, just transported into a different time or dimension. But that hardly changes the results. A person would be equally likely to end up in the Paleolithic era, or even in a parallel dimension."

"Then why did I end up here? And now?"

"It might come down to simple coincidence."

"You don't believe that."

"No, I don't. From the way you describe it, you didn't fall into the Veil. It absorbed you. It looks like it did so with intent."

Oh, she would need a Muggle therapist so badly. "What intent are we talking about?"

"That, Hermione," Dumbledore said. "Is what we need to find out."


End file.
